


Lions in the Crescent Moon

by Psynatural, walking_tornado



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Charlie Bradbury, BAMF Charlie Bradbury, Case Fic, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Charlie Bradbury & Sam Winchester Friendship, F/F, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hunter Charlie, Interspecies Romance, Merpeople, Mythology - Freeform, mermaid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psynatural/pseuds/Psynatural, https://archiveofourown.org/users/walking_tornado/pseuds/walking_tornado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie alerts the Winchesters to strange sightings in a small town, but when their hunt goes bad, Charlie is saved by an unlikely rescuer—and she absolutely can't tell Sam and Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lions in the Crescent Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[ART MASTERPOST] Lions in the Crescent Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5885644) by [Psynatural](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psynatural/pseuds/Psynatural). 



> This fic was written for the 2015 Supernatural Reversebang and was inspired by the artwork of my partner-in-crime, Psynatural. The art masterpost can be found here:<http://archiveofourown.org/works/5885644>. -WT

[ ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5885644)

Charlie could no longer hear the terrifying sounds of branches breaking behind her, but she didn't stop her breakneck run along the overgrown path. She ventured a hope that she had been able to outrun her pursuer. The thing. It had taken a bloody swipe at Sam's chest and then had lunged for her before Dean distracted it with a gunshot to the back. While ineffectual, the shot had shifted the thing's attention enough for her to follow Dean's order to run. 

She barely suppressed a scream when something pulled at her clothes. With a jerk followed by a ripping sound she tore her arm free of the thorny bushes that sought to trap her. In a flail of limbs Charlie stumbled out of the woods and onto a rocky beach. Her feet slipped on the loose pebbles and storm-tossed rocks piled at the high tide line, and she fell to her knees before scrambling up. Every step sent an avalanche of pebbles trickling down, announcing her whereabouts, and she froze. 

The pebbles tinkled into silence, leaving only the sound of the waves. She took great gulps of air, and tried to pant more quietly. Her breathing wheezed out and her efforts seemed counter-productive. She scanned the darkness of the trees behind her and listened. 

* * *

_Yesterday afternoon_

"Hey Charlie." Sam's casual greeting didn't quite match the beaming grin on his face as he exited the Impala and wrapped her in a hug. 

"Hi Sam," Charlie said, but her words were muffled by his shirt. 

"So you've got a problem for us?" Dean went straight to business but he didn't suppress his pleased half-smile, and he opened his arms for a hug when she was done with Sam. It was nice having big brothers. Even if they weren't related. 

"Yeah, I have," she said. "Ghost lions." 

There was a long pause as both men blinked at her. 

"Oookay," Dean said slowly, before announcing, "I need food." He nodded to the restaurant across the street. 

A half-hour later, Sam shook his head as he closed his phone. 

"Nope," he said as he reached across their booth to snag some more pizza. Sam chose the vegetarian, which sat in the middle of the table, next to the half-gone meat-lovers, and Charlie grinned at Dean's expression as he appraised the vegetable-laden slice. "No one's ever heard of lion ghosts," Sam continued. "They just. . ." 

"Don't exist?" Dean added, unhelpfully. "You sure they're not black dogs?" 

"Not dogs," Charlie insisted. 

"Werewolf sightings?" suggested Sam with a skeptical frown. "It is a full moon." 

Charlie shook her head again. "Lions. And there are no missing hearts." 

"Just missing people?" Dean said, and Charlie nodded. 

"And when did you say this all started?" Sam asked. 

"A few days ago, I think. Right after the earthquake." Charlie spoke with a mouthful of pizza, and Sam scrunched his face up as he tried to make out what she’d said, so she repeated it. "Seven sightings of lions in the five days. Started right after the earthquake. And there's a missing kid, Ryan Connick. Tell me that's just coincidence," Charlie insisted. 

Sam shrugged. "It's possible. Wasn't a large quake. Made the local paper but looks like it didn't do more than rattle dishes a bit." 

"So the lions are what, mass daytime hallucinations?" She meant it rhetorically, but as she spoke, she frowned. Sam narrowed his eyes as he considered it. 

"Could have loosened a gas line or something," Sam said, and he turned to his screen. "Maybe a zoo nearby?" Charlie could have done the search faster, she knew, but Sam was more than capable. Nothing useful showed up so Sam closed the laptop and they stopped their discussions as the waiter brought their bill. 

"Okay," Dean said, once they'd exhausted their options. "Let's check out the kid's place and the school." 

Sam nodded his agreement, and the waiter returned with their remaining slices of pizza, now wrapped in foil. Tomorrow's breakfast, Charlie supposed. 

The sun was low on the horizon, and the moon was visible. A large cloud formation partially covered it, so that the full moon appeared more like a crescent. Charlie shook her head. She was imagining things now: even the clouds looked like rampant lions. 

They were passing a closed bottling plant whose battered sign looked as though someone had taken a baseball bat to it—one side of it was missing, and the middle portion had been knocked back, leaving it a thin crescent with only the last couple letters legible—when a shadow stepped out of the bushes. 

Dean hit the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel, and the Impala's tires dug into the gravel shoulder. The large, ephemeral, glowing, four-legged shadow vanished in the seconds it took to stop. 

"Sam?" Dean said. 

"I saw it too. Over there." Sam pointed into the thick brush. 

Dean eyed the setting sun and nodded to Sam. It sometimes sucked to be the odd one out, Charlie thought, to be the one who was always playing catch-up because she wasn't in on the Winchester shorthand. Then she'd hear stories—few and far between, usually with many empty bottles scattered around them—of growing up as a Winchester and was glad her blissful ignorance had lasted so long. Sam and Dean got out of the car and walked to the trunk, and, after a moment, Charlie did likewise. The car door's hinges squeaked a bit as she opened it, which brought Dean's head peering at her from behind the trunk. He frowned and let the trunk close. The brothers were now armed with shotguns, knives, and their ever-present salt. 

"Gonna take a quick look around. Stay—" 

"I'm not staying here," Charlie said with a raised eyebrow, casual yet firm, pre-empting the order she knew was coming. Dean was totally predictable. Her two new big brothers were great and all, but she was more than capable of looking after herself. She'd done it a long time. 

Dean glanced at Sam, who pinched his lips together, but thankfully didn't argue. He handed her a pistol, waiting and judging as she checked to see if it was loaded and had the safety on. Charlie let out a self-satisfied grin when Dean nodded, apparently satisfied. Oh yeah, she rocked! 

When no trace of the ghost was seen in the woods immediately surrounding them, they made their way along an overgrown path towards an old bottling plant they could see in the distance. The plant had obviously not been used in decades. A stream ran beside it, gurgling down the hill towards the ocean. 

"Dean!" Sam said, keeping his voice low. "Footprints." 

Shortly after that everything went to hell.

* * *

_Now_

Charlie searched the length of the beach again, and her heart dropped. No Sam. No Dean. Shit. 

Entering the plant had been a bad idea, Charlie reflected, as she half-kneeled on the rocks, listening for the tell-tale signs of pursuit through the crash of the surf. Sam had taken a step inside, just long enough to glance around and had motioned them to be quiet. 

"It's a lair!" he'd whispered. 

Charlie barely registered everything that had happened afterwards, it was so fast. Large black claws lunging from the shadows. Sam flying across the room. Screams—hers— and thundering roars had filled the air. Dean, down on the ground and coughing, had yelled something she didn't hear. The sight of Dean swinging up his shotgun and waving frantically at her got the message across. Charlie turned and ran, shots exploding in the dark behind her. 

The rhythm of the breaking waves made a strange counterpoint to the pounding of her heart as she listened for signs of her pursuer. Charlie inched upwards from her crouch until she was standing. But a moment later the branches cracked. Charlie lurched to into a run, as best she could over the shifting surface, and the nightmare burst from the dark trees. 

The thing behind her roared its anger, but it definitely wasn't a lion. It moved faster than she had along the shore, and, seeing no other choice, Charlie made for the water. She sucked in her breath as she made contact with the frigid water, but she didn't stop, hoping that it wouldn't follow. 

Neck-deep and lifted up with each swell, she stopped long enough to glance back. Her jeans felt like cardboard and constricted her movements, and her shirt and sweater did nothing to keep her warm. The creature had stopped with the water still around its ankles. Its eyes flashed in the moonlight as it glared at her and gnashed its teeth. It ventured a few more paces forward and Charlie moved deeper still, until she was barely touching ground between waves. The cold water made her breath stutter. 

That Sam and Dean were not here . . . it wasn't a good sign. She supposed if the creature had followed her, then at least it had left Sam alone. And then a stray wave broke over her head and she didn't have time to worry about anyone other than herself as she lost her footing. 

Charlie could swim but wasn't especially skilled, and, with the waves, the darkness, and the numbing cold, this situation was unlike her childhood classes at the Y. She wasn't sure if she'd drifted further out, but she was no longer able to feel the bottom. Her sodden clothes added weight, and her shoes made it awkward to kick. She tried to toe them off and slipped underwater with each try, but they seemed to have been fastened with superglue and refused to budge. She knew she was tiring fast, and keeping above the waves was becoming increasingly difficult. Charlie couldn't seem to catch her breath anymore, and more than once she inhaled water. She made an effort to swim back to shore but in the darkness she couldn't easily gauge her progress, if there was progress at all, and the crosswise waves added to her disorientation. 

When she first felt the brush of something on her leg, she screamed. The creature at the water's edge roared in response, and Charlie felt momentary relieved that it hadn't caught her. And then her mind supplied her with other possibilities. She couldn't shake the image of the eels with large sharp teeth. " . . . they always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh." 

The monster on the beach snarled again and Charlie shut her eyes and whimpered in fear. She could feel movement on both sides now, and something large behind. Larger than an eel . . . shark! Now that her mind had gone there, there was no way back. The thing brushed by her again, a smooth glide along the side of her calf and Charlie kicked out but it didn't make contact. Her movements became more frantic, less swimming and more flailing, as she rushed towards what she hoped was the shore. Despite her efforts, she slipped beneath the water and felt it again: something large, cold and smooth. It wrapped around her like a kraken, and she kicked and twisted to get away, but it held too tightly. In her panic it took her a while to realize that her head was out of the water, that the sea monster taken her up to breathe, not pulled her down to drown, and that rather than ripping and tearing into her it was supporting her as she coughed and gasped. 

"Shhh, I will not harm you." 

It talked. Oh god, the shark could talk! Even with its many many teeth. And it had hands. . . Wait, what? 

The incongruity penetrated through the panic, and Charlie whipped her head around. A wave crested just as she turned, and she swallowed more salt water, but even as she sputtered, when the water cleared from her eyes she saw the woman holding her up. 

"He has retreated. He cannot swim and has little patience. I will help you closer to shore." The woman's calm voice rang clear, even through the noise of the waves. Strangely accented, it reverberated through Charlie's skin. 

Charlie nodded, too preoccupied with breathing and coughing to venture speech. She nearly wept with relief when her feet touched sand and rock once more. Once Charlie found her footing, her helper let go but didn't move away. Charlie noted that the woman hadn't stood up, and instead bobbed around her with every swell, watching Charlie curiously. When a fin again brushed her leg, Charlie understood, and kicked herself for not having clued in earlier. Given her particular background, she'd have thought she'd be quicker on the uptake, but it wasn't every day she met a mermaid. Charlie's soft, dreamy images of them seemed childish when faced with the reality. Trembling with cold, with the sharp smell of salt water in her nose and its taste in her mouth, listening to the breeze rustle the trees where a monster lurked . . . she could forgive herself for her lack of instant recognition. 

"You are. . ." Charlie began, but a shiver went through her before she could say, "a mermaid." Oh, and she was beautiful. The moonlight reflected off the strong lines of the woman's face and her cascade of dark hair seemed to repel water. This woman was magnificent. Now that she was slowly calming down, Charlie could feel the occasional brush of her rescuer's breasts as the mermaid passed close. 

"You may call me Taratha," the mermaid said, in her ringing voice. 

Charlie smiled tentatively, and then she shivered violently as the wind stole warmth from her body. Taratha frowned and moved her lithe form closer, wrapping her arms and curling her tail around Charlie. Charlie's finger's splayed rigid in surprise, but the mermaid didn't let go, burying her face into Charlie's shoulder. Unsure, Charlie let her hand flutter just above Taratha's skin. 

"It's okay," Taratha said, "You need warmth," and Charlie allowed her hands to settle against the woman's bare back. The skin was no different than any other woman's skin, but the smooth scales that protected her tail extended from the navel downward and ensured that Charlie would not mistake her for human. The proximity made no difference at first: Taratha was no warmer than the ocean. But soon Charlie noticed a definite improvement as Taratha's body warmed, becoming almost hot, warming both Charlie and the water around them. 

"Thanks," Charlie said, and she look shyly at the mermaid when Taratha let go. "And I'm Charlie." 

Taratha's eyes never wavered in their appraisal. "No," she said, "you are not." 

Charlie's mouth dropped open, and she stammered as she explained, "It's what my friends call me." 

Taratha's smile lit her face. "Charlie," she said, and Charlie thought the warmth infused in the name would easily keep her warm on the coldest night. 

"He has gone," Taratha said, which pulled Charlie's thoughts back to her current predicament. "You must go now. And next time, heed my warnings!" 

"Warnings?" 

Taratha frowned. "Did you not see my lions warning you away?" 

"Oh! Your lions. . ." Explaining that she and her friends intentionally set out to approach the lions, when everyone sane had run away, wasn't something she wanted to admit. 

"When his hands were unbound," Taratha continued, "I came to alert the people of this place, but no one listens. Fortunately he remains weak as the bindings are not completely severed." 

Charlie scrunched her face in confusion. "Who—" 

"Charlie!" Dean, yelling from the beach, grabbed her attention. 

She thanked whoever might be listening that he was okay. But she didn't see Sam. 

"Dean!" Charlie had hesitated before calling out. A hunter's reaction to any mythical creature was unlikely to be favorable. Even as she turned back to Taratha, to warn her, she felt the swirl of cold water around her legs, as the mermaid gave a kick of her powerful tail, and disappeared into the dark water. Charlie looked around but she did not reappear. 

"Dean! Over here!" she called again. Charlie turned one last time to search the choppy waters for Taratha, and for a moment she thought she spotted a head between the waves. But then it vanished, and she began to make her way towards Dean. 

Charlie was shivering again by the time they reached the Impala, even with the Dean's warm leather jacket. She slid in the backseat, beside Sam, who looked dangerously pale. But Sam was alert, and seemed relieved to see her. His chest was a sticky mess of blood, and he held Dean's spare sweater to staunch the wound. 

"You still good, Sam?" Dean said, with a concerned look to the backseat as he pulled the door closed. 

"Peachy," Sam said, and then he looked at Charlie. "You okay?" 

Charlie nodded. 

"I thought . . ." Sam continued. "When it went for you . . . How did you get away?" 

Snugged in Dean's jacket, under Sam's concerned eyes, Charlie half-opened her mouth to tell them, but stopped. Taratha had saved her life, but Sam and Dean might not give her the benefit of the doubt if they thought she might have something to do with the creature on the beach. She wasn't ready to take that chance. She shrugged off the wet jacket to revel in the Impala's heat that Dean had cranked up to its maximum setting. 

"Ran into the water. Hoped it couldn't swim. And I guess I was right because it went away." 

* * *

All three of them were in a bad mood the next morning. Charlie hadn't slept much, and what little sleep she'd had had been filled with lions and moon slivers, dark chases and heart-pounding fear, the slide of Taratha's fins over Charlie's now-bare leg and her soft lips whispering clarion-clear endearments—and then the scene would take a sharp turn and a dark monster would yank her backwards, and Charlie would awaken in a cold sweat. 

Even though Charlie had slept later than she'd planned, Dean still wasn't fully awake when Charlie knocked on the door of their motel room. His face had developed an impressive bruise from last night, and he seemed to be favoring his left arm. Sam was buttoning up his shirt, and she could see that his chest had been stitched up and bandaged. Though Sam winced with every movement, he was annoyed with Dean's suggestion that he sit this one out. In typical Winchester fashion, the snippy bickering continued all through breakfast. 

Afterwards they decided split up to cover more ground. Dean would go to Ryan Connick's house to take a look around while Sam headed to the school to interview the kid's classmates. 

"Charlie, you're with Sam," Dean said. 

"High school?" She tried to infuse the words with all the revulsion she felt. "Ugh. I'd rather gouge out my eyes." 

Dean ignored her protests, and bent in to whisper, "Watch he doesn't pull his stitches and mess up all my work." 

She nodded. 

* * *

"Well, Ryan was. . ." 

"Weird." 

"Totally weird." 

And that tone, right there, was why Charlie had ditched high school. Definitely Slytherins. 

"Weird how?" Sam asked. 

"I don't know, just . . .eww, you know." No one spoke, and then one of the girls—Charlie couldn't remember their names, but they seemed more-or-less interchangeable—rolled her eyes with a huff as she continued. "Okay, like, the last time I saw him he was upset about something, mad at—well, I don't think he had friends—but mad that one of the other losers had left him out of something. And he was saying crazy things, like he could control a really powerful whatever and everyone's going to be sorry. Like he really believed it." 

Their derisive laughter grated at Charlie's last nerve, and she was happy to let Sam do all the talking. 

"Okay. So who did he have that disagreement with?" 

"I don't know. I didn't really pay attention. You can ask them over there. I think they talk to him sometimes." 

Charlie followed the girl's disdainful wave to the small group in the far corner. She smiled when she spotted an intricately laid out board game. These were her people. 

An hour later they met up with Dean, who had leaned up against a picnic table and sipped a take-out coffee as he waited for them. 

"Any luck?" Dean asked. 

"Well," Sam said, "our Queen of Moondor has three spanking new recruits for the LARP." Charlie concealed her pleased grin as Sam continued, "but there are two kids missing, not just one. Ryan Connick and his best friend James Fing." 

"Okay." Dean nodded. 

"And they were upset with another group—" 

"Of course they were." 

"—and they claimed they could control one of the most powerful entities the world had ever seen." 

Dean rolled his eyes. "Lovely. Anything to it?" 

Sam shrugged. "No one has seen them since. Timeline fits for the appearance of the ghost lions." 

Dean shook his head and muttered, "Ghost lions," then he looked at her and Sam."Okay. So we think what? Any luck finding out what those things last night were?" Sam shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands in an I-don't-know gesture. Charlie didn't bother answering. 

"You find anything at Connick's house?" she asked, but her mind was no longer on their interviews. All day, she had been thinking of her encounter with the mermaid last night, and as the day progressed it became more difficult to concentrate on anything else. She could smell the salt of the ocean on the air. 

"No. Place is spotless," Dean said as he gathered his things. "Scary clean. Dust-is-afraid-to-settle clean. The kid's parents are super preppie types. Probably search junior's room pretty regularly. Let's grab dinner then go check out the other kid's place." 

"Dean, can I borrow the car first?" Charlie asked. 

Sam froze, and then looked from her to Dean. Dean had paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. He didn't immediately say no, which was a good sign, though his eyebrows nearly touched his hairline. 

"Why?" he said, and he brought the cup to his mouth. 

Because I can't get her out of my mind, Charlie thought. 

"I. . . need some. . .feminine products," she said, cringing at the feeble excuse and her lack of imagination. 

"Fem—Oh!" Dean said. She'd surprised them, and if she could have thought of anything other than Taratha, she'd have been amused at their nonplussed expressions. 

"Here, just . . . careful with her," Dean said and he reached into his pants pocket to take out his keys and toss them to her. 

"Thanks," she managed. For a moment she almost felt seasick with the motion of the waves, and she wobbled a bit on the sidewalk but it passed without anyone noticing.

* * *

The beach looked significantly less scary in the daylight. She tried to ignore the cloud shapes that looked like crouching tigers. 

"Hey!" Charlie called out, hesitant. "T-Taratha!" A bit louder. 

A seagull who'd ignored her approach until then, flew off when she yelled and it landed a bit further up the beach. Other than that, nothing moved. Taratha hadn't come. 

The mermaid had known what the monsters were, and about the lions, and so far she, Sam and Dean were running blind. Now at the edge of the waves, Charlie toed off her sneakers, stuffed her socks into them so the wind wouldn't take them, and rolled up the bottom of her jeans. 

The glacial water sent shivers up her back as she baby-stepped further in. She stopped at her ankles, and hoped that this connection with the water might bring the mermaid to her. 

"Taratha," she called again. But other than the cries of the gulls, there was no reply. No stray cloud gave her visions of great cats. She continued to throw cautious, worried glances past the high water line, towards the dark overgrowth beyond, but nothing moved there either. 

A bit put out, Charlie pulled on her socks, grimacing when the fabric stuck to her wet foot. The bits of sand felt like sandpaper and aggravated her all the way back to the Impala.

* * *

"James Fing," Dean said, as they drove towards the Fing's residence. "So what do we know about him?" 

Charlie shrugged. "Nothing really. Quiet. Ryan's friend." 

"From the sounds of it, probably his only friend," Sam added. 

From Dean's description yesterday of Ryan Connick's pristine house, Charlie had formed a rough assumption of what James Fing's would look like, and those expectations were dashed as soon as they drove up. The bungalow's attached carport was bursting with discarded or unfinished projects, forgotten toys lay scattered along the walkway, an action figure was half-buried in the overgrown flowerbed, and a broken plastic pail had been discarded in the grass with its little shovel lying a little bit further away. A hammer lay forgotten and rusting just off the cement walkway. Some kind of children's music blared from inside, and through the window Charlie could make out four men in colored outfits dancing on the screen of the average-sized television—one of the boxy older ones, nothing made this century. If Dean had thought the Connicks' place seemed empty and lifeless, Ryan seems to have made up for it by befriending a kid who inhabited the most lived-in place Charlie had ever seen. 

James's mother burst into tears when she opened the door and saw the badges that Sam and Dean flashed, and it took them several minutes to calm her down and explain, that no, they were not there to tell her James had died, and no, there were currently no new leads. When Sam finally asked if they could take a look at James' room, she said something affirmative but unintelligible in a hiccupping voice. She waved them upstairs, before turning to comfort two young children who had begun crying in response to seeing their mother upset. Charlie had a headache before they'd reached the top step. 

James's room was covered with books, most of them open or half-open where he had used another book as a bookmark. 

"Here!" Dean said, and Charlie who was closer than Sam, got there first. "This mean anything to you?" Dean said as he handed her a dog-eared book. Charlie winced at the treatment the ancient volume had been given, but shook her head and handed it to Sam. 

"Cuneiform," Sam said. 

"Well, duh." Charlie rolled her eyes. 

"Babylonian—no, Assyrian," Sam continued. 

"You can read it?" Dean asked, but Sam was shaking his head before Dean had finished. 

"No," Sam said, "I need my reference materials for this one. I mean, it's obviously a summoning spell. I can pick up a word here and there, but not enough to know what we're dealing with." 

"Charlie?" 

Charlie just shook her head. Had they needed a large quantity translated, she'd write up a program and scan the pages, but that was too much work for the little bit they needed. She could crack it for them given enough time, but no faster than Sam. 

"Thank you ma'am, we'll be getting out of your way now," Dean said as they left, and they walked briskly away before James's mother could ask them any questions that would start her crying again.

* * *

"We need to go back to the old bottling plant," Sam said, and Dean just nodded as if _of course_. 

Charlie choked on her chocolate milk and it took a couple minutes for her to be able to talk without a fit of coughing. "To the monster?" 

Sam nodded. 

"We stumbled on its lair last night," Dean added, with a nod of understanding to Sam. "But this time we'll be prepared." 

"You found out how to kill it." 

Dean shrugged. "Cutting off heads usually does the trick." 

Sam tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at Dean. "There's always that grenade launcher in the trunk. Haven't used that in a while." 

"Do you even know what it was?" Charlie exclaimed, exasperated. 

"No." Sam had pressed his lips into a thin line as he stared at the book they took from the kid's house. "Old. Assyrian. Something these two idiots called up from somewhere." He sighed and looked straight at Charlie. "We can find it. But it will take time. And while we wait someone's going to get hurt." 

"So you stay here, keep up the research," Dean told her, "and Sam and I will see what we can do in the meantime." He fit the last piece of his gun together with a sharp click. 

When the rumble of the Impala faded, Charlie tried to concentrate on the cuneiform pages, but there were too many distractions. The heater started up with a roar that made her jump, the power cord from the lamp looked like a tail, the friggin' rug-thing they had put on the bathroom toilet seat cover looked like a mane. The last straw was when she lifted her sandwich to see that she had unintentionally eaten it to form a perfect crescent moon that reminded her of Taratha's smile. Letting the sandwich fall back on her plate, she closed her computer. 

The taxi dropped her off on the side of the road, just past the bottling plant. 

"Careful," the driver warned her. "Some bad people around. Someone got chased last night, and I just heard," he pointed to his radio, "that there's someone missing." 

Charlie nodded and watched as he drove away. She didn't see the Impala, and figured Sam and Dean had found a better-concealed way in. Charlie didn't go towards the bottling plant—that foolishness she'd leave to Sam and Dean—but to the deserted beach. Her breathing sped up as she hit the loud rocks that crunched and slid under her feet, and she cast a scared glance at the darkness around her. The sea looked black. There was little wind tonight, for which she was thankful. She slid off her pants and shirt but not her underclothes, and stood there, momentarily indecisive, staring out at the sea. The gentle lapping of the waves against her toes prodded her forward and she took a step into the ocean, and then another. No one was there to see her. 

"Taratha," she whispered, but the sound was swallowed up by the waves, so she called out again, walking slowly deeper. She paused when she was knee-deep and thought about going back, until a wave came up and wet her up to her navel. 

"Taratha?" Charlie sighed, and stepped deeper still, now that she was no longer dry. "Are you there? I have some questions." That likely was the biggest understatement of the year. "It's about . . ." The monster? That thing? "... your friend. On the beach. Who chased me into the water last night." 

"Typhoeus." 

Charlie jumped to hear someone speak so clearly behind her. She was past waist-deep now, and the waves had wet her chest. She'd crossed her arms over her breasts to provide a barrier, poor though it was, between her nipples and the cold water. 

"His name," Taratha continued, swimming slowly in circles around Charlie, "is Typhoeus. And he is no friend." The mermaid continued her lazy circles, but her eyes were sharp. "He tried to capture me. Once. Long ago." She stopped moving and her face became stern. "You must go. It is not safe. You have seen my warnings and not heeded them. He walks again. Amongst you." 

"I know, and that's why I'm here. We're trying to. . ." Charlie hesitated as she searched for the right phrasing. "Trying to make him leave," she finished. Taratha hadn't been overly specific about what Typhoeus was to her, and she might not be impressed that the Winchesters wanted to blow him up and behead him. 

"Leave?" Taratha's peal of laughter seemed to explicitly call her an idiot. "He will not leave unless he is Compelled like the last time, before he was dismembered and buried in different corners of the earth. He was not happy with that treatment. Did you not hear his rumblings as he awakened?" 

"Rumbling? The earthquake?" 

Taratha nodded. "His awakening shook the world." 

"Why did he. . ." Charlie lost her train of thought as the mermaid drew alongside her, and gently curled her tail around Charlie's legs, like an anchor, keeping her close. The heat radiating from her upper body once again warmed the water between them and Charlie shivered at the contrast with the cold waves hitting her back. "The stupid children called him forth. There, on the beach." She nodded to an area further down the beach. 

Must be the missing kids, Charlie thought. "Ryan and James?" she asked. 

Taratha merely shrugged, as if it were of no consequence. "They were surprised. I watched from here as they were consumed and overtaken." 

"Overtaken?" Charlie asked, but Taratha just regarded her, patiently, waiting. "Consumed. . . The monsters? Those were the boys?" 

Taratha nodded once and continued. "The Arms of Typhoeus. The rest of him is still bound to the ground, though he has been making efforts to free himself. Two more sacrifices are needed to set him completely free." She cocked her head, as if listening. "Maybe just one." 

It was silent again, but for the noise of the waves as Charlie processed the information she'd received. 

"You said Compelled," she said after a few moments. "What is that?" 

"It is how he was bound long ago with words and thunderbolts." Taratha had come close, very close. 

"Hmm. Yeah okay," Charlie stammered. 

An explosion from the direction of the bottling plant grabbed her attention. She heard a yell that could only have been from Dean, and she started forward, but Taratha wrapped her tail more tightly around her, pressing their bodies together. 

"Wait," Taratha said in a whisper against her cheek. "Hide while I distract him. Then go to your friends." 

"But how will you—" 

"I escaped him once, and he still searches for me." When Charlie opened her mouth to voice her concern, Taratha smiled. "I will be here when next you come. He will not cross the water." Charlie felt the smooth snake-like movement as Taratha loosened her hold. The unusual feeling of safety disappeared with the last lingering touch of Taratha's long tail-fins. 

The mermaid's clarion voice rang out, and the leaves of the trees beyond vibrated with its passage. "Typhoeus, I still swim freely. Are you awake yet?" 

The taunting of Taratha seemed more fitting for a sibling's needling, or, Charlie thought suddenly, the pettiness of an ex-lover. She wondered again whether the mermaid could read minds when Taratha's eyes darted to her, and an impish grin appeared. Taratha suddenly was there, in Charlie's space, sending shivers across her skin, and she stretched her neck and kissed Charlie. Her lips were cool, but fire-hot on the inside—the Tardis of kisses. "Go now," Taratha whispered. 

Charlie wobbled a bit as she hurried back to the beach, and she threw frequent wide-eyed glances backwards, but failed to locate the mermaid. Dripping, she hid in the bushes and tugged on her clothes as she waited. They stuck to her wet skin. 

Twin cries of rage had erupted at Taratha's words. Charlie ducked further down as three great beasts came crashing through the forest path. The arms of Typhoeus. After they had cleared the forest and could be seen roaring at the full moon, visible in the waning daylight. The man in the full moon seemed to give a feline snarl, and once again sported a lion's mane of clouds. As she watched, dark clouds once more covered the moon, so that only a thin crescent peeked out. Charlie darted back towards the bottling plant once Typhoeus' creatures had passed. When she arrived, Sam half-supported Dean, and he was slowly making his way around the corner. 

"Sam!" Charlie called but he appeared not to have heard her. He started when she slipped under Dean's other arm, and when she looked closer, he appeared slightly stunned, and he pointed to his ear. She nodded her understanding. The explosion had messed up his hearing. Hopefully it was only temporary. She swallowed and tasted salt, and hoped that Taratha was right, that Typhoeus couldn't reach her in the water.

* * *

Charlie rubbed at her temples. She was listening to Sam and Dean work their way through the lore, with Dean on the phone to Cas, who was searching the bunker's files. They would get there, she knew—they always did—but they were running out of time. Typhoeus needed to be stopped before he released another binding. She could tell them— should tell them. She studied Sam's serious face as he scanned through another document. Dean had put his phone down and was rubbing his temples. 

"Nothing yet," Dean said, "but—" 

"Not all creatures are evil," Charlie said, a bit more forcefully than she'd meant to, and both men looked up in surprise. 

"Well, no," Dean said slowly, as if trying to figure out what her point was. "The cute little squirrel across the street is safe." He grinned. She didn't return it. 

"Not what I mean." 

"These things—whatever they are—that James and Ryan set free," Sam said, "they're not the good sort. They're hurting people." 

Charlie sat up quickly and leaned forward. "Right! So there are good sorts. Ones that want to help, ones that you don't kill." She had Sam's full attention now, and Dean had sat up and was studying her. 

"Charlie," Dean said, "something you want to share?" 

She opened her mouth but the sounds stuck. She fidgeted and adjusted the hem of her shirt. 

"Yeah," she said, and she hesitated again before rushing ahead. "It's Typhoeus—what they summoned. He's not completely free yet, which is good, and he can be stopped, but not with bullets and salt. There's a spell . . . and thunderbolts." 

She stopped and looked at her toes. Her shoes were still wet from the beach and chafed at her heel. No one spoke. When she hazarded a glance upwards, she found herself the center of focused, concerned stares. 

"Typhoeus?" Sam said finally, as he reopened his laptop. 

"Yeah," she said and Sam's hands flew over the keyboard. 

"So, tell me," Dean began. He hadn't stopped watching her, and the suspicion she saw made her stomach drop. "Where did you really go with my car?" 

"To the beach. To talk to. . . someone." 

"Charlie," Dean warned, and his face closed tighter at her prevarication. 

"Okay, well—and you can't kill her!— when that thing chased me. . . I was saved by a mermaid." 

Dean's lip quirked but he still seemed angry. "Mermaid?" 

"Her name is Taratha." 

Sam looked up. "Taratha?" He frowned at the screen again. "Do you mean Atar'atheh? More commonly known as Atargatis, the mermaid goddess of the sea? The Greeks called her Derceto . . . I think. The mythology's a bit jumbled." 

"Um, maybe." _Goddess?_

Sam gestured at his screen and sat back. "There it is. Dean. All the lions. Atargatis: the lions signal her presence. And crescent moons, too." 

Charlie's eyes fell on the semi-circular shadow cast on the floor by the motel's sign blocking the street light. She couldn't help thinking it was Taratha winking at her. 

"Charlie, what the hell!" Dean was on his feet now. 

"She . . . she wasn't . . . I mean, she helped me," Charlie said, as she felt her voice getting smaller as she spoke. "A goddess?" 

"Yeah," Sam said, and he turned with renewed vigor to the cuneiform texts. 

"Okay." Dean took a breath before he continued. "Tell me what exactly happened." 

She did. 

". . . said Typhoeus has to be bound by a spell and hit with thunderbolts—and then I heard you scream and I went to help." 

"Lightning," Dean said, and he looked at Sam. "Fulgurite?" 

"I don't think there's enough time to order some," Charlie said. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Typhoeus is trying to break free, and he's taking people to do it," she said. 

"Here!" Sam thrust his finger at something in the book. "I don't have it all, but I've got the gist. Shit. Charlie's right, Dean. There's no time. The summoning has to be done within three days of a full moon. Tonight's his last chance to break free." 

Dean swore, and then stopped suddenly and smiled. "Then let's get some lightning."

* * *

The Impala came to a halt with a sliding of tires in the rough gravel of the shoulder's edge near the overgrown road by the bottling plant. Charlie's stomach twisted. In the front seat, Sam's profile appeared carved in stone and Dean's eyes, reflected in the rear-view mirror, had taken on that determined do-or-die look. Sam had received a call from the panicked teenagers they'd interviewed, telling of how monsters had abducted their friend. The careful plan they'd been putting together was now thrust into overdrive. To save the kid, to stop Typhoeus, they needed to stop the ritual before the last of the bindings could be released. 

Now that she knew what waited, it was much more difficult to get out of the car. She only wished the thud of the car door closing didn't sound so final. When Dean closed the trunk with a grin and held up the Taser, Charlie raised an eyebrow. 

"Our lightning," Dean told her. "Heavy duty. Works great on rawheads." Sam scowled at Dean's words and clenched his jaw. Dean's forced grin disappeared and he avoided Sam's eyes. Charlie looked from one to the other and knew there was a story there that she was missing. 

"I'll take it," Sam said, and matched his actions to his words as he took the Taser from Dean. 

"Okay. I'll distract him. Charlie?" 

"Right. I'll handle the incantation." _I hope_ , she added silently. "I'll go call Taratha. Give me ten minutes." She pretended not to see the brothers' similar grimaces when she brought up the goddess. She set off at a run for the beach, and left them to prepare. Alone on the path, self-doubt began to creep in, and she willed the threatening nausea to wait until later. 

"Taratha knows the binding spell," she'd told them, back at the motel. "I'll ask for her help." A memory of a hand, steadying on her side, warm, caressing, had crept up and she knew she'd blushed. 

"I don't like it," Dean had said. "Gods—goddesses, demi-gods, whatever—are never a good idea." He had walked over to peek over Sam's shoulder. "And—oh, great—her worshippers practice ritual castration. Charlie!" 

"Then don't worship her," Charlie had snapped in frustration. "She saved me! She's on our side." 

Sam had shaken his head. "Charlie . . . deities, creatures . . . you can't trust them. They have their own sides. It's not—" 

"I'm not a child," she'd looked from one to the other, "and I'm actually a pretty good judge of character. You don't trust her, I get it. Trust me." 

Sam had opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment his phone had rung with news of the abduction, and discussions were over. 

Now, hiking up her jeans as the first wave lapped at her bare feet, she hoped that she was right. 

"Taratha!" Charlie yelled. Her heart sank when she didn't spot anything in the crashing waves. She walked in further, and the fabric of the jeans was only a momentary barrier to the cold. The jeans stuck uncomfortably to her legs as she waded deeper in, with no sign of the mermaid. 

"Taratha!" She brought an arm across her chest as the cold water rose above her breasts. 

A roar from the direction of the bottling plant made her turn. She couldn't see anything, but she soon heard another roar, slightly different in timbre, and knew she had to hurry. The Taser without the spell wouldn't be enough. 

"I'm here." 

Charlie thought she'd never been as happy to see anyone. 

"You have to do the binding spell!” Charlie yelled. “Right now.” 

“I cannot. It is a mortal power.” 

At any other time those words would have piqued Charlie’s curiosity and she’d unleashed a barrage of questions, but now they made Charlie’s heart stop. Sam and Dean were counting on her. 

“Fine,” Charlie said in a firm voice, “then I have to do the binding spell. Teach me." 

Taratha tilted her head and it blocked part of the moon from Charlie's sight. With Taratha's face shadowed, Charlie couldn't see her expression, and the mermaid was silent longer than Charlie would have liked. 

"We have the lightning," Charlie rushed on, "but we didn't have time to locate the spell and you know it, so—" she cringed as another roar rose into the night. "Please." 

"You must repeat it exactly," Taratha said, softly. She glided around behind Charlie and pressed in close, to speak into her ear. Charlie nodded and Taratha began to speak. 

Charlie struggled to repeat the words with their odd sounds, and she could tell that her version wasn't up to par. Beyond the beach a crashing sound could be heard, and the large lumbering form of one of the transformed kids —she couldn't tell whether it was James or Ryan—descended onto the beach and roared its anger at her presumption. 

The next time Taratha spoke, no sound left her lips. "Try this way." Instead she spoke directly into Charlie's mind, and Charlie was hard-pressed to distinguish her thoughts from the goddess' voice. When Taratha silently began the incantation over again, there was little lag time before her words came out of Charlie’s mouth with the proper inflection and intonation, as if it were Charlie’s native language. 

Typhoeus did not appreciate the change. It came into the water towards her. 

"Oh, shit," Charlie said, and she wanted to scream when she realized that her slip meant they had to start over again. 

Dean came barrelling out of the woods, Taser held ready. 

"Charlie! Charlie, I can get him but you have to get out of the water." 

She shook her head without stopping the flow of words, and she could hear him swearing even over the sounds of the surf. 

"Over here, you fugly mother!" Dean yelled, and he tucked away the Taser, scooping up rocks that he aimed at Typhoeus. The first few it ignored, but when the next volley hit its head, it whirled on Dean with a snarl. The minute the beast had left the water, Dean dropped the rocks, pulled out the Taser and sent a current into the beast. The electricity immobilized it, but it stayed on its feet. 

"Sam has the other," Dean said, as he maintained contact, and pulled out a backup Taser. "But I don't know how long we can hold them." 

Charlie heard him but did not respond. Taratha's words fell off Charlie's tongue, a perfect and effortless echo, and though she saw nothing happening, as she continued each word seemed fuller. She could almost feel the web of words wrapping around the arms of Typhoeus, overlapping each other and adding strength. When Dean's gun finally gave out, her words alone held both lesser incarnations of Typhoeus immobile. As the last syllable grew in her mind and thundered outward in Charlie's sure, strident voice, it was overtaken by a rumbling and the ground shifted beneath her feet. She slipped beneath the waves, unable to gain her footing, but Taratha was there, pressing lips to hers and sharing her breath.

* * *

When she surfaced, all was quiet. Taratha hadn't come up with her, though, and stayed beneath the waves, weaving lazily around her legs. 

"Charlie, Dean, you okay?" Sam had come out of the trees and ran to Dean's side. Little remained of the monster but a charred shell that vaguely resembled something that could have been human. 

Charlie began walking back up towards the beach. She felt Taratha alongside her beneath the water, until, with the merest touch of fingertips along the side of her heel, she left. 

Charlie walked out of the water and Sam met her and passed over his jacket. They congregated beside the burned husk that once was human. She had hoped that when Typhoeus was bound once again, the kids would recover. But their essence was gone, burned away. 

"Gods, angels, demons . . . they have this tendency to burn out their host," Sam said quietly. Charlie looked to the path where Sam had left two people waiting, wide-eyed and clutching each other. At least they had been able to stop the ritual before the most recent abductees had been consumed. 

"Where is your mermaid?" Dean asked. 

"Gone," Charlie said. "The spell, when Typhoeus left . . .it must have bound her too." The Winchesters looked at each other and Charlie could see them relax. 

It didn't feel right lying to Sam and Dean. But as she watched them scan the waves for any sign of Taratha, she knew it was the right thing to do. They were hunters, and they wouldn't be able to leave it alone. They'd feel an obligation to remove any potential threat she might pose. Charlie couldn't live with that. She could still hear the echo of Taratha's words, seared into her memory. Despite the length and complexity of the binding spell, Charlie knew that she would never forget it. 

On the walk back to the Impala, Charlie stopped. 

"I'm not going back with you," she said. 

"Charlie, we have to bring them," Sam nodded to the two survivors, "back home, and we have to get back—we left a few things unfinished at the bunker. We can't just—" 

"I know. You go. But me . . .well, I have unfinished things here." She sensed that they needed more. "Sam, you remember, Moondor got some new recruits. My services are required." She threw out her best grin. 

Dean walked close and she looked up at him. "I'm sorry about your friend," he said softly. "Take the time you need." She nodded and met Sam's equally sympathetic eyes. Both men looked away. 

While Sam and Dean went to the motel to pack their bags, Charlie wandered back to the water's edge. She half expected the Winchesters to show up again, in a misguided attempt to ease her loss, but they seemed to have understood that she needed some alone time. She'd only misled them about the reason why. 

Charlie smiled wide when she spotted Taratha's dark hair and bare shoulders as the mermaid popped up and stared at her, waiting. She heard the wordless invitation, and it washed over her like a healing balm, promising love and comfort. Warm laughter surrounded her as Charlie took off at a run into the water. 

End

**Author's Note:**

> Psynatural, many thanks for letting me play with your lovely prompt! It's been fun working with you.
> 
> Ah, dollarformyname, what can I say? One of these days I'll dig out my passport and we'll party. Thanks for the wonderful beta! All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Thank you to the spn_reversebang mods for all their hard work.
> 
> -WT


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